by John Creasey
“Trustees for Yule’s grandfather, yes. That’s why they held out so long before telling Fiori where the stone was, why they pretended to believe that they had the real McCoy. Now it’s all sorted itself out, and Fiori just can’t win. We’re keeping Yule and his wife in custody—for their own protection. I’m making quite sure nothing can happen to Lorna, Larraby or Elizabeth—there’s no knowing what Fiori might try. He’s still sure that you have the Tear”
“Is he?”
Bristow said with elaborate unconcern: “Yes. He telephoned Lorna to say so. He takes a lot of convincing, doesn’t he? I almost wish you had it!”
Mannering said: “Getting frisky in your old age, aren’t you? Wouldn’t possession be a crime!”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re a trustee of the estate. Even if you had it you couldn’t get at the cache because we have the rest of the message at the Yard. I can’t see you trying to sell that Tear. Yes, it’s a pity you haven’t got it,” Bristow mused. “If you had you’d be able to lure Fiori to have his last shot, wouldn’t you? You know, I’ve been wondering what I’d do if I really thought you had it. I’ve decided that I’d let you go your own sweet way—look after everyone else who might come to any harm, but let you stick your neck out.” The bantering tone faded from Bristow’s voice. “It would be worth risking a lot to catch Fiori. We can make sure he doesn’t profit by anything, but we want more than that—we would like to see him hanged. Yes, it’s a pity you haven’t got the Tear.”
“I’ll try to find it as soon as I’m able to get about,” said Mannering sardonically.
It was three days before he could move without hurt to his back. During those three days he saw a great deal of Elizabeth Warren, who stayed at the flat. He was glad, because in trying to help the girl Lorna dwelt less on the danger from Fiori. He hadn’t told her what he was going to do; she needed no telling.
On the fourth day he left the flat and drove to the Strand Post Office to get the Tear. None of Bristow’s men followed him; he saw no sign of Fiori’s men, but he didn’t think that was because Fiori was now on his own.
He put the little package in his inside coat pocket and it lodged there and seemed to burn him.
Fiori wanted him to hand over the stone and there was only one place he knew where he might contact Fiori.
He telephoned Bristow from the post office.
“Listen, Bill, and don’t argue. Have you two good men, not well known, who could visit a certain restaurant and look as if they’re talking business?”
“Yes. Toni Fiori’s?”
“Yes. Today. Say one o’clock.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bait for Fiori
The diamond was like fire against Mannering’s breast; fire which parched his mouth, made him sweat, seared his mind. It was no use pretending that Fiori had not seen him and did not know that he now had possession of it. He could not be logical where Fiori was concerned. Mannering drove slowly along the Strand and hardly noticed where he was going. In his mind’s eye was a picture of a mutilated woman; in his ears Green’s tortured cries seemed to ring. Fiori had done those things because he wanted the Tear, and the Tear was in Mannering’s pocket.
He drove to Toni Fiori’s café.
Toni was upstairs, but hurried to welcome him, was delighted to see him looking so well. Then – in a whisper – what a tragedy about Julia. Such a beautiful woman, so good and kind, she had always been too good for his brother. That brother of his! He was a devil. He, Toni, confessed that there had been times when he had been frightened almost to death by his brother. It wasn’t any use denying it, Enrico had a quality which frightened everyone who knew him except – Toni laughed, but uneasily – Mr. Mannering. Nothing frightened Mr. Mannering.
He, Toni, had a message for Mr. Mannering –
Mannering sat back on his seat and looked up into the plump, earnest face.
“From Enrico?”
“Who else, signor? He is my brother, who am I to refuse to pass on a message?”
“Especially as you might get hurt.”
“I confess I would not like to cross Enrico,” said Toni softly. He leaned forward, his breath brushing Mannering’s cheek. “Two or three times each day he telephones me, and asks if you have come. For some reason he expects you here. Each time he says the same thing. You are to leave the Tear where you left the imitation diamond – he knows everything, you see, everything. That is one of the terrifying things about Enrico. You hide, you run away, you try to lose him, but he always knows where you are. Sometimes he seems to know where you are going to be, even before you have decided yourself. Do you not agree?”
“Oh, he’s good.”
“I tell him you have not the diamond, such a man as John Mannering would give it up at once to the police, but he will not believe me. I do not ask if you have it – please don’t tell me, I do not wish to know, Mr. Mannering, it would not be safe for me to know! But this I say to you – if you have it, leave it where you are sitting. It will be well for you and for everyone you love. Please!” The brown eyes were close to Mannering’s, the likeness between the brothers was much more evident. “Please, Mr. Mannering! Remember what has happened to Julia because Enrico thought that she was helping you against him. You did not know? That is one of the things he tells me, yes. And he will find a way to do great harm to you and to your loved ones. I say that if I had the Diamond of Tears I would leave it where Enrico tells me.”
“And how would Enrico get it then?”
Toni shrugged. “I do not know his methods – why, it would hot surprise me to know that some of my waiters, perhaps my kitchen hands, work for him! I wash my hands of it. I only give you the message.”
Mannering said: “Yes. Now what about luncheon?”
“The very finest there is in London, signor! Guisseppe!” He clapped his hands for a waiter. “Guisseppe! You will attend the signor. I will go to the cellar and find the wine.” He rubbed his hands and hurried off, moving with surprising speed and smoothness on his little well-shod feet – moving very much as Enrico would move. But he wasn’t Enrico. The trite thought flashed into Mannering’s mind, flashed out again. He glanced round the restaurant. There were a dozen well-dressed couples, most of them eyeing this favourite of Toni’s with veiled curiosity. Two well-dressed men in one corner looked at him intently. One gave a slight nod.
Guisseppe recommended this, recommended that – but he was on edge. There was little doubt that everyone at the restaurant was, too. The hatch leading to the kitchen, usually firmly closed, was open. The chef peered at Mannering, darted out of sight when Mannering caught his eye.
Toni was gone a long time.
When he returned Mannering was eating a superb grilled sole with a delicious mushroom sauce. The tension had passed itself on to Toni, he brought the wine but he let it swing carelessly, although it was a wine to be reverenced. He put it down heavily, and Mannering could hear his harsh breathing.
“Signor!”
“So he’s telephoned again?”
“It is so—always he is on the telephone. Signor, I beg you to believe me, he is angry, he is prepared to do anything, and he will not wait. I am to tell you that unless the diamond is left, today, then he will not be patient any longer. You—you have the diamond, signor?”
“I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“Forgive me, I am not myself.” Toni brushed his hands over his forehead; he was sweating. “He will telephone again, I am to give him your message.”
“Blood is so much thicker than water,” said Mannering. He slid his hand to his pocket, drew out the package, and held it in his hand. Toni’s pink hand came forward, drew back again sharply. Mannering broke the seal and began to unfasten the brown paper; Toni watched with baited breath. Two of the waiters hovered near, as if to hide Mannering from everyone else in th
e restaurant. Inside the paper was a box; inside the box, cotton wool. Mannering plucked at the cotton wool. Toni gave a strangled sound, half cry, half gasp.
“Signor—”
The Diamond of Tears shimmered like fire in front of their eyes. Toni closed his and raised his hands as if in supplication.
Mannering held the stone in cotton wool, appeared to brood over it, then placed it carefully in Toni’s moist palm. Fat fingers closed about it, and Toni drew in a shuddering breath.
“Tell him you have it,” said Mannering.
“Signor, how—how wise you are!” Toni clutched the Tear, seemed to sway, steadied himself and then hurried off; as a drunk might hurry. He went into the kitchen – and as the door closed behind him Mannering stood up and beckoned Bristow’s men. One hurried outside, the other came to Mannering. Mannering pushed open the kitchen door. The staff inside was staring at Toni, who reached a hole in the floor and started down a flight of wooden stairs – the stairs to the wine cellar. Mannering led the way across the kitchen. No one spoke, no one cried out, the tension had touched them all.
Toni reached the foot of the stairs and didn’t turn round.
Mannering and Bristow’s man went stealthily after him. The cellar was dry and smelt dusty, cobwebs hung low. There was a dim light from naked lamps. They walked along, footsteps echoing faintly. Had Toni not been drunk with the Tear he must have heard them. He stopped in front of a large wine cask and turned the tap. The cask moved slowly to one side and brought part of the wall away with it. Toni stepped aside – and caught a glimpse of Mannering.
He threw his arms upwards and his mouth opened to shout. Mannering reached him and struck him in the stomach. He felt his fist sink in and heard the wind gush out. Toni dropped the Diamond of Tears. The Yard man picked it up. Mannering thrust a handkerchief into Toni’s gaping mouth to silence him, then he turned to the hole in the wall. He had to bend double while getting through and his back hurt. Inside the passage beyond it was dark and fusty, but he could stand upright. He saw a glow of light not far away. He tiptoed along, came upon an open door, and beyond was a small room. A pair of slippered feet were in front of an electric fire.
He stepped inside, and Fiori looked round at him.
Fiori drew his legs up but made no attempt to rise. He blinked, looking like a man roused out of a heavy sleep. His pale, plump hands rested on the arms of his chair, he held his head back to look at Mannering. The heavy lids drooped over his eyes. His mouth was open; he closed it slowly.
The room was small and windowless. In one corner was a divan covered by a gaily coloured eiderdown. Nearby, a radiogram stood next to a bookcase. An untidy pile of newspapers were on the floor near Fiori.
A man moved outside.
“All over,” Mannering said.
“You say so.” Fiori sat upright but did not try to get up. “I don’t agree with you. Have you brought me the Tear?”
“You won’t need it now.”
“I shall always need it.” Fiori’s eyes shifted, he looked past Mannering, who moved so that Bristow’s man could come in. Muffled sounds further away came from more policemen summoned by Bristow’s second man at Toni’s.
In the detective’s hand was the Tear.
Fiori’s eyes glistened. He stood up with a swift, easy movement and stretched out his hand.
“Give that to me.”
“This is as close as you’ll get. Keep back.”
“Give that diamond to me.” Fiori moved slowly forward, ignoring Mannering, oblivious of everything but the Tear. In his eyes there was a glow which turned them a reddy colour – lust and desire lit up his face. The look was of terrible intensity, as if sight of the stone caused him physical agony. His outstretched hand trembled, his whole body quivered.
Mannering said: “Let him have it.”
“But—”
“What harm can it do?”
“Harm!” sighed Fiori.
His gaze seemed to hypnotise the detective who let him take the Tear. Mannering, only a yard away from Fiori, heard the sharp, almost sobbing intake of his breath. Fiori lifted the Tear close to his eyes, peered at it as if at a sacred thing; and smiled. The smile was at once grotesque and beautiful. He stood like that for a long time, scarcely breathing.
Then he raised his head.
“Did you have it all the time, Mannering?”
“Does it matter?”
“The truth, please.”
“I knew where to find it.”
“Ah! I was right. Julia was right, too. She told me that you would defeat me. Is this man a policeman?”
“Yes.”
“It was worth everything—everything,” said Fiori. “It is a lovely thing, and more than lovely. It is the key to great riches, the key to great power. Money is power. I saw myself as a great and powerful man, richer perhaps than any other in the world. You say this man is a policeman?”
“Yes.”
Fiori said: “And you say it is all over. No, Mannering, it has only just begun. Oh, I am helpless now, there is no hope for me, but the Diamond of Tears will live on. It is alive. All the riches it can bequeath will create hatred and greed and bitterness, will cause bloodshed and pain and suffering. You blame me for what I have done. What have you done, Mannering? You have unleashed great, unbridled passions and you cannot tell who will suffer, how it will all end. Had I found the Tear in time I would have prevented much that will now happen, the power would have been in my hands.”
He looked at the Tear again, then handed it to Mannering. As Mannering took it Bristow came into the room.
Mannering stood back, Bristow cleared his throat, motioned to men who were standing outside the room. He said in a formal voice which failed to hide his excitement:
“You are Enrico Fiori?”
“I am.”
“It is my duty to charge you with the wilful murder of Julia Fiori, and to take you into custody. Other charges may be preferred against you. I have to warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence.”
“I have nothing to say,” said Fiori.
He stood motionless.
Then his hand flashed to his pocket. He struck at Bristow and pushed him aside. A knife glinted. He swept round, slashing at Mannering’s throat. Mannering felt the sharp edge on his chin and struck at Fiori’s hand. The knife fell. Fiori drew back, making no attempt to get the knife; he did not struggle or fight again.
“It’s almost a pity you can’t hang a man these days” said Bristow. “I wish his brother were for life, too, instead of getting ten years for complicity.”
Mannering said: “Toni was forced to help.”
“Toni got cold feet and tried to back out, but couldn’t,” Cluttering said.
He was one of the group of three who stood outside the Old Bailey, one afternoon two months after the arrests. Judge and jury had made their decisions. The trials of the lesser men were also over. The commissionaire who had crashed the lift was sentenced to life imprisonment, like Fiori and Harry Green. Nearby, a crowd of sightseers raised a cry when Yule and his wife came out. A way was cleared for them by the police. As they were driven off they caught sight of Mannering and smiled and waved.
“They look happy,” Cluttering remarked.
“They are. Julia would be happy about it.”
“The sentimental John! Well, I don’t want another job like that. I now know what is meant by lying at death’s door. Must rush off and get my story written. I—oh! What’s the news about Elizabeth?”
“She’s all right,” Mannering said. “I don’t think she’ll forget Yule in a hurry, but it doesn’t hurt so much now. She’s taking Elizabeth Warren as her legal name.”
“Any idea who legally owns the Tear?” asked Chittering.
“Read your newspapers and you’ll find o
ut one of these days,” Bristow said.
Chittering grinned and hurried off. Bristow and Mannering strolled along the narrow road and were soon lost among the crowds near St. Paul’s.
“Is Elizabeth going to fight for the Tear?” asked Bristow. “As an executor you ought to know.”
“She isn’t. Her identity’s been proved, and she has more money than she knows what to do with. She doesn’t want the Tear or any fabulous hoard. It’s worth millions! The jewels were all given to Jacob to help refugee Jews out of Germany. Elizabeth Warren, the only claimant, has agreed to hand them over to a Trust Fund.”
“In trust for what?”
“Europe. The jewels came out of Europe, and their value is going back. To help rebuild Germany and to help the displaced poor. So to dry some tears!” Mannering laughed. “There’s sentiment for you!”
“What about the Tear?”
“It will become a museum piece.”
“That’s about right for it,” said Bristow heavily. “John, I’ve often wondered why old Jacob Bernstein saw Harry Green alone, why he left the secret in the Tear. He must have known the risk.”
Mannering shrugged.
“We can only guess. I would say that he thought Green could be trusted. He was pretty sure no one would be able to find the Tear unless they knew the secret hiding-place.”
“As you did.”
Mannering laughed.
At Chelsea, Elizabeth Warren, wearing a sky-blue dress with a fluffy sky-blue scarf to match, was waiting with Lorna when Mannering entered. She looked both young and contented.
Series Information
Published or to be published by
House of Stratus
Dates given are those of first publication
Alternative titles in brackets
'The Baron' (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)
'Department 'Z'' (28 titles)